My 4th child, a story with a moral?

I watch my niece Penelope while her mommy and daddy are at work. She is ridiculously cute, I love her! Her eyes and coloring are a lot like Heath's as a baby. My mom even said I could claim her as my own when I was watching her and no one would know the difference (Charlie is the one no one believes is mine.) And after having a ton of comments at stores from people watching me juggle my three boys alluding to the fact that I must have something against girls, I decided I just might from time to time claim Penelope as my own.

So today was another summer time extravaganza-parks, baseball camps, swim lessons, sunscreen. Dave switched shifts at work so he could come enjoy the boys and watch their classes, and Penelope got to come along with us today too. It was a lot of fun and I thoroughly enjoyed all of it! As Heath's baseball camp was wrapping up I was hanging out in the shade of a tree with Wade, Charlie, and Penelope. A lady from a nearby tree called over to ask how old my daughter was. Instead of loudly explaining she was my niece, I just called back over "about 6 months," thinking she was just enjoying Penelope's beauty and that would be the end of the conversation. Before I knew it she was sitting on our blanket comparing her baby to Penelope and we had a whole conversation going. I felt it a little silly trying to explain to her at this point that she wasn't really my daughter, so I just answered her questions about her headbands and such since I knew all the answers, still letting the woman think Penelope was my fourth child. Though I made sure to never specifically call her mine, I just never fixed her assumption. Surely I would never meet this nice lady again, but I was starting to feel a bit guilty letting this woman believe I could keep up with all these children every hour of every day as she talked about her struggles with just one. Shortly before she left to go home we discovered we attend the same church building, but at different times. Perfect! I thought of the day when we bump into each other at the halls of church, or she meets another person from my ward who knows me. That's going to lead to a very long or confusing conversation; this experiment may have gone too far.

I giggle contemplating the irony that I thought it would be easier to just yell six months than to explain she wasn't mine. As we drive home for lunch I retell the experience to Dave. In true Dave form, he looks at me judgingly and calls me a big old liar. "But don't worry, if you run into her again you can just tell her Penelope died. That will take care of it"

Awesome.